For Practically Forever
by Vivid Butterfly
Summary: It starts with a party: Santana's to be exact, but it has been going on for far longer than that. And sometimes, getting exactly what you have always wanted is the absolute worst thing that can ever happen to you. Dave/Finn.


idek what gleeonfacebook is doing to me. I mean, aside from having me write **FAVE HUDOFSKY**

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For Practically Forever

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It starts with a party; Santana's to be exact, after an absolutely horrible loss by the Titans. You are already pretty drunk when you wander upstairs Santana's huge house in to a guest bedroom room. Drunk enough that you know you won't be driving back until tomorrow morning and that you better find a bed soon if you don't want to sleep on the floor.

And that's where you see him, sitting on the edge of the guest bed, his head buried in his hands.

"Hudson?" you ask in disbelief because you are drunk and your head feels pretty fuzzy and you're not exactly sure if this is real. That kid who smells homeless was smoking a lot of pot downstairs and maybe you shouldn't have been sitting next to him for so long.

He lifts his head then, when he hears you say his name and looks straight at you; his eyes are red and puffy.

"Fuck, Hudson are you _crying_?" you whisper out the last word like it is some sort of punishable offense.

Finn wipes away at his eyes with the edges of his long-sleeved shirt and frowns. You like that shirt, it's one of your favorites to see him in and that thought makes you frown. Because, you shouldn't care what he wears. You shouldn't notice he looks better in browns than greens and you definitely shouldn't have a favorite shirt.

"No!" he yells, "Shut up. Go away. Fuck off, Karofsky."

"Dude," you mumble and press the lock on the door down behind you. It takes you a second before you move across the room and stand next to him, "are you okay?"

"Kid isn't mine," Finn says simply. His voice sounds weak and dispassionate.

Of course it's not his; it's Puckerman's. The whole damn school knows that. They'd known for practically forever.

You stop yourself from saying that though, because when he looks up at you and your chest starts to hurt.

"Quinn is a whore," you finally say and place a tentative hand on Finn's shoulder; when he doesn't shrug you off you let the grip strengthen a bit.

"How could she lie to me like that?" Finn asks, and you aren't sure if it's a rhetorical question or not so you wait for a minute and Finn continues talking, "How could she look right in my face and tell me that kid was mine? How could she sleep with my best friend? How could they both do this to me?"

And before you can even tell what's happening Finn has thrown his arms around your waist and pulled you to his body. He is crying and his body is trembling against you. You stand shocked for a moment before you ease yourself down on to the bed next to him, wrap an arm around his shoulder.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," you whisper. Finn is staring at you with his reddened eyes and this look on his face is like his whole world has fallen apart, "you're going to be okay." You can't help but place a hand on the back of his neck, let your thumb stroke at the short soft hairs.

"You're going to be okay," you say again, louder this time, clearer. Your hand pulls him closer against you. Your foreheads are inches apart and he leans forward so they touch. Your heart skips a beat. You've dreamed of moments like this before, for as long as you could remember, for practically forever.

He smells like… He smells like him. He smells like Finn Hudson and god it is fucking wonderful.

"Why are you being nice to me, Karofsky?" Finn asks and you open your mouth to respond, but can't form the words. And in that moment it's like Finn can see right through you; he knows. He knows everything.

"You'll be okay," your voice is back to a whisper though and now it's more of a question than a statement. You need to get out of here soon, need to go downstairs and talk about banging chicks with Azimio, because if you stay here any longer…. If you stay here any longer you don't know what you'll do.

And that scares the fuck out of you.

He looks up at you with his sincere brown eyes, head tilted up to look at you even though when you stand he's a good four inches taller than you; the whole image is just too much and before you realize what you're doing you lean in and kiss him. He tastes like beer and you know, just know, that he has to be drunk too- probably drunker than you are- to let this kiss happen. But he does.

And you don't stop. And neither does he. His hands are on you in a second, both of them gripping on your shoulders pulling you up against his body.

You slide a hand under Finn's shirt and tug at the edges before he pulls back and lets you strip it off of him. You spend your days in the locker room trying to keep your eyes down when the hot guys walk by. That's when you kiss his neck and the way he shivers underneath you. It's like every single fantasy you've ever had since you were twelve and starting to jerk off combined, and still somehow better than you've ever imagined.

Your hand stops at the waistband of his jeans and you look up at him. Your throat is dry and you lick your bottom lip and you can't even breathe while you wait for him to give you _something. _And he does, he nods and you start to undo the buttons and slide down the zipper before you work the jeans down off of his hips and toss them on the floor.

He's wearing Ninja Turtle boxers and you can't help but chuckle as you remember being in third grade and arguing over who got to be Raphael when you played with action figures. You usually relented and picked someone else because you wanted him to be happy and you didn't even know why.

"What?" he asks and you shake your head, press a kiss to his hip bone, drag your teeth over the pale skin.

"Nothing man. Just Ninja Turtles."

Soon enough Finn's completely naked beneath you; your hand has just brushed up against Finn when the taller boy's hips buck and he shudders underneath you.

"I'm sorry I-" Finn begins to mumble, his face reddening with embarrassment; you wipe your hand on the expensive looking comforter and can't help but feel a little too proud of yourself. Laughing, you bite Finn's lip as you kiss him making him groan and sigh into you.

"You'll be up in a second," you reply and of course you're right and he seems to grow a bit more confident because he slides a hand under your shirt and scrapes his nails down your back, a smirk on his lips.

This is what you've been dreaming about for practically forever, since before you realized you're not supposed to want to kiss your best friend, since before you realized this feeling even had a name, since before you realized it was _wrong_.

* * *

You wake up the next morning with an aching head and your arms wrapped around Finn's lean torso. You feel sick and you're sure it actually has nothing to do with what you drank last night.

There's a clock mounted on the wall that you noticed last night but sort of ignored. Right now it tells you it's seven thirty.

It doesn't occur to you to try and unwrap yourself delicately from this mess, and as you pull away he stirs in his sleep.

"Quinn," he mumbles and grabs on to your wrist. You wrench your arm away like you've been burnt and grab your jeans off the ground. Your shirt is across the room and you find your shoes near the end of the bed; you don't bother putting them on as your race downstairs, stepping over passed out teammates until you make it to the safety of your car.

On the drive home you have to pull over to the side of the road because you feel like you're going to puke. When you finally make it home you park your car in the driveway, leaving the keys in the ignition. You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, close your eyes, and try not to remember the way he smelled.

At school on Monday you call him a fag and shove him against a locker, his nail marks still on your back.


End file.
